


Midsummer Memories

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Tarnin Austa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:16:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Glorfindel spends his first midsummer after his rebirth in Lindon.





	Midsummer Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Gen Fic Challenge - Summertime.  
> Element: Anor at her noontide zenith, on the longest day of the year, beat mercilessly down from a clear sky, not a cloud in sight, nor a hope of rain.

“There you are! The parade is about to start and—“ Erestor backed up and turned around. He frowned as he looked at Glorfindel. “You are not dressed yet.”

Glorfindel looked down at himself. “I am dressed,” he stated, which was true. 

Erestor sighed and shook his head. “Yes, but you are not dressed for the festival. Where are your robes?”

Glorfindel slumped down further. “I left them in Rivendell.”

“Are you serious?” Erestor groaned when Glorfindel nodded. “I sure hope we can find something proper for you,” said the advisor as he wandered into one of the bedrooms. Due to the vast amount of visitors in Lindon, many of the guest rooms were holding double or more their normal capacity. The suite they were in was being shared with Elrond as well, who had left at dawn in order to help Gil-Galad with any final preparations for the midsummer festival. “Why is everything in here for traveling? Did you not bring anything formal to wear?” called out Erestor.

“I was not planning to attend the festivities.” Glorfindel waited until Erestor emerged from the room to further explain. “I agreed to come to Lindon and scout the path as we traveled. I never agreed to be any sort of dignitary. That is a position reserved for you and for Elrond.”

“And you,” countered Erestor. “What am I? Just an advisor.”

“Chief advisor,” corrected Glorfindel. “Second in command of Rivendell, and that is nothing to scoff at. The two of you founded Rivendell - you ARE Rivendell. I just showed up to shoot the bad guys that try to come into the city.”

“Which is not to be played down either,” Erestor assured his friend. “Besides, you are—“

“Do not say it,” warned Glorfindel.

Erestor paused and studied Glorfindel. “What do you think I was going to say?”

“Same damn thing everyone says.” Glorfindel sat up as Erestor sat down next to him. “Be it ‘balrog slayer’ or ‘hero of Gondolin’ or whatever other nonsense, I would prefer not to hear it. Elrond said this was a vacation. If that is true, then leave me be and let me rest in peace.”

“Alright,” replied Erestor. “I will not broach the subject again.” 

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to go and sit with the general assembly? I am sure there are seats near the back.”

“I am just going to stay here,” said Glorfindel.

Erestor nodded as he stood up. “If you change your mind, I am sure there will be a place for you somewhere.”

Glorfindel sighed after Erestor left. As a second thought, he locked the door. Erestor would leave him alone, but it was always possible that Elrond would be more persistent. The festival was still hours away, giving Elrond more than ample time to come back to the room. Glorfindel was still getting his bearings of this new Middle-earth, and he was unaware of whether Elrond would leave him alone or drag him out by his hair.

\---

Anor at her noontide zenith, on the longest day of the year, beat mercilessly down from a clear sky, not a cloud in sight, nor a hope of rain. It was a blessing to be in Lindon, where sea breezes brought a welcome respite from the heat. Glorfindel opened all of the windows of the suite in order to cool off. The beach was crowded, mostly with children and their nannies, or he would have considered a swim.

Most everyone else was in the courtyard, where the Gates of Summer was being celebrated. Just the thought of what day it was put Glorfindel on edge. Now he lounged on the couch, a book resting open across his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. He could hear the trumpets in the distance and voices raised in song.

Having skipped breakfast, his stomach was very interested in what was on the menu for lunch. However, it seemed he would need to navigate his way into the kitchens or the dining hall or out to the courtyard in order to sate his hunger. The courtyard seemed the safest idea; if he needed, he could disappear into the trees or around a corner.

All of the hallways were empty, and in the courtyard everyone was focused upon the raised platform situated behind the head table. Trees encircled the courtyard, towering elms and oaks, and swaying willows, giving Glorfindel ample cover. The music was loud, violins and flutes, that gave way to excited drumming and percussion. It was all more than enough to aid Glorfindel in staying unseen and unheard, and when a group of servers passed by with trays of food and drink, he plucked a glass of wine and a meat pie without being noticed.

The music increased in volume and speed, and Glorfindel wandered a little closer. The head table was mostly empty, save for a few diplomats whose names he did not know. On the stage, performing to one side, was Erestor. He soloed on his fiddle while the rest of the Lindon musicians on the other side accompanied. Glorfindel was astonished to see the king among them, aiding jovially on tambourine. 

Another scan of the table showed it was lacking Elrond. Glorfindel hoped his absence had not caused Elrond to return to the suite and miss the opening of the event, but as he considered returning to the rooms to check, Elrond leaped up onto the stage. In each hand he held a long sword, and he began to dance with such unerring precision that Glorfindel found it hard to believe him only half-elven.

The drums rumbled, and Erestor seemed to match Elrond’s movements with his bow work. The crowd rose to their feet, some having to be persuaded by their partners and friends, until they were all dancing in the wide aisles between the tables. Even the servers, as they weaved in and out of the merriment, were light on their feet as they skipped from table to table.

“This is not a midsummer festival,” mumbled Glorfindel to himself. He looked around, seeing no stadium for the feats of strength and boxing matches. Dancing was something that the elflings might have done, but not the adults, who would have solemnly waited for the rising of the sun to sing after a night of reflection.

As Glorfindel ate, he watched Elrond finish his dance as the song ended. Applause rang out, both Elrond and Erestor took a bow, and Gil-Galad snapped his fingers to count off the next song quickly before anyone had time to sit down again. Once more, Erestor’s fiddle sang and led the band in their playing. Elrond now joined Gil-Galad on the opposite end and clapped his hands in time while he and the king exchanged some words, appearing to be teasing each other. Finally as the music took on a tempo too fast for either of them to keep up, Gil-Galad relinquished his tambourine to one of the percussionists and jumped down from the stage with Elrond. They seemed to size up the two ends, and with some laughter, each strolled to one side.

Each of them pulled a maiden from the crowd, and while the music swelled, they started chains of elves dancing. It seemed to be a competition, for each of them to get the more to join their lines. Even Erestor seemed to be in on the contest, for he sped up and slowed down as he pleased, ever keeping the dancers literally on their toes. When Elrond started stealing dancers from Gil-Galad’s chain, and the king sent some of his group to dance around the trees in order to avoid Elrond, Glorfindel decided it was time to leave, lest he be caught up in the festivities.

“Oh! Did you lose your place?”

Glorfindel turned to find two giggling young ellyth behind him. “No, no, I am quite alright,” he lied as he took a step backwards and nearly stepped into another elleth who had now come up behind him.

“Ai! Look at all that hair!” She laughed when he turned around, startled. “Oh, I like you! Come dance with me!” She reached out for his arm, but he stepped back, only then recalling the two on the other side.

“We found him first!” argued one of the pair. “Go find your brother and dance with him.”

The lone elleth pouted. “There is only one of him and two of you. I should get to keep this one.”

Not about to stick around for the outcome, Glorfindel flashed the single elleth a smile and handed his empty glass and plate to her. “Do you mind?” he asked, placing them into her hands before she could answer. “Thank you. Ta.” He jumped straight up into the air, grabbed hold of the branch above, and used it to swing up onto another one.

“Wait! Where are you going?!”

Glorfindel did not look down to see which one was protesting. There were some trees close enough to climb into, and soon he had disappeared into them and managed to get far from the trio he was avoiding. Unfortunately, he was now in a tree close to many of the other festival goers, and he settled himself comfortably in order to wait until the crowd thinned.

As it turned out, Gil-Galad and Elrond were both accomplished singers, and for the next few hours the crowd was entertained by those on stage and kept fed by the constant stream of servers. As afternoon gave way to early evening, the tables were moved away so that couples and groups could sit on the grass together. The music became softer and more reflective, and unexpectedly, Glorfindel drifted into reverie.

It was much later when Glorfindel awoke, finding the courtyard mostly empty. Stars shined down from a clear sky, and with the sun gone there was some relief from the heat. Glorfindel slipped down out of the tree, stretched his limbs, and walked back to the suite. Before he even made it to the doorway of the building, he changed his mind. The main crowd has dispersed, but smaller groups congregated here and there, two in the path he would need to take. With his head bowed, Glorfindel walked briskly through an alleyway to the beach. There were a dozen bonfires in the sand, but the elves on the beach were staying close to the fires. 

Glorfindel walked past them, all the way to the shoreline. Water lapped at his boots as he looked out across the sea. It had been less than a year since he had taken the small boat back from the west, and he wondered some days if his decision had been the right one. It seemed that not a day had gone by that someone had not made some reference to the balrog. In fact, there was some bloody awful phrase he heard people use: ‘Ai! ‘Tis Glorfindel and the Balrog!’ he had heard people shout. The only consolation seemed to be that they mentioned him first, but he decided in short order that he would have preferred not to have been mentioned at all. Why not Ecthelion and the Balrog? Or Tuor and the Balrog? He soon learned it was part of a much longer nursery rhyme, and he hated it, but politely smiled through each and every time someone shouted it in his presence. 

Footsteps shuffled up behind him, and he closed his eyes and sighed. There was always one. Always someone so curious that they could not just leave him alone. Plastering a false yet friendly smile on his face, Glorfindel turned and found the most unlikely person standing beside him. “Your majesty,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

Gil-Galad waved this off with a frown. “Just call me Gil-Galad. Ereinion, if you prefer.”

“Which do you prefer?” asked Glorfindel.

“Ereinion.”

“Then why do most people call you Gil-Galad?”

“Which sounds more commanding: King Ereinion or King Gil-Galad?”

Glorfindel did not ponder this long. “The second, without a doubt.”

For a little while they stood silently, looking out past the docks to the west. Finally, Gil-Galad cleared his throat and said, “I was hoping I might ask you a question.”

‘Here it comes,’ thought Glorfindel. He slowly nodded, for there was hardly any way he could deny the king from asking him something, and even more insulting to refuse to answer.

“I know you had some contact with my father. What was he like?”

Glorfindel blinked. “Uh... did you not know your father?” The question blindsided him. As he dug into ancient memories the tale of the balrog was thankfully shoved out of his mind in order to make room for anything he could recall regarding Fingon.

“I only knew him briefly. He sent me to the Falas when I was a child, and we did not have much contact even before that. I wanted to ask you about him earlier, but Erestor said you were not feeling well. I am glad to see you have improved.”

“It was the heat,” apologized Glorfindel.

“Ah. Yes, it tends to make things uncomfortable, especially if you are not used to it.” Gil-Galad turned over a rock in the sand with his bare foot. “If you would rather not talk about the past, I understand. I imagine it could bring about some unpleasant memories.”

“I do not mind, depending on the subject. There is not much for me to tell you, for my contact with your father was limited. I will do my best to remember everything I can.” 

They spent the next few hours walking along the beach, with Glorfindel reminiscing as Gil-Galad listened intently to every word. While there was little he could say about King Fingon, there was much to share of Turgon and Aredhel, and Maeglin and Idril, and Gil-Galad hung onto Glorfindel's every word. Fires burned to ash and the beach was eventually deserted, save for the pair strolling along the shoreline. It was only when grey skies heralded the dawn that Gil-Galad excused himself, leaving Glorfindel alone on the beach.

Glorfindel plucked a long, slender piece of driftwood from a tangled patch of seaweed. He gouged it into the wet sand and dragged it along. The waves washed over the sand and dragged down again to cover up his mark.

Once again, he shoved the tip of the driftwood into the sand. He hastily drew a tree, an anvil, and a swan. As these were being washed away, he etched a smaller bird, a mole, and a snowflake, followed by a harp, a rainbow, a moon surrounded by stars, a pillar, and finally a fountain. When he tried to add the sun to the end of the row, the driftwood splintered and cracked into three pieces.

He threw the piece he still held into the receding water as someone behind him said, “That one does not belong with the rest.”

“That one still does not know where he belongs,” admitted Glorfindel as he was joined by Erestor. 

“Maybe that one just needs some time to figure things out without being pressured by everyone else. Speaking of, I am sorry I was trying to make you come to the festival yesterday. I should have known better,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel shrugged. “I was there, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I hid up in a tree.”

Erestor smiled. “Do you want to have some breakfast? The hall is less crowded this early. I was on my way there when I saw you.”

“Breakfast sounds wonderful.”

As they walked back, Erestor said, “So, you must have seen all of us acting like fools yesterday.”

“You looked like you were having fun. Maybe next year I will have the courage to get up there and act a fool with the rest of you. No promises, of course,” he added quickly.

“No promises,” Erestor parroted. “Of course, that would mean getting up in front of a crowd, which I know you hate to do.”

“There is that. I am a really good singer, though,” Glorfindel reminded him.

“Modest, too.”

Glorfindel smirked. “I just thought maybe I should. All things considered or something like that. I figure I can muster up enough courage to get up there.”

Erestor nodded, and then started to grin.

“What?” questioned Glorfindel as they approached the doors.

“I was just thinking... you deciding to be so ‘courageous’... Ai, ‘tis—“

“Do not dare.”

“’Tis—“ Erestor snickered, laughing too hard to finish.

“You had best leave it there.”

“’Tis Glorfindel and the balrog!” Erestor laughed so hard that he choked slightly and had to cough to clear his throat.

“Serves you right,” scolded Glorfindel, but he was far from angry, already mentally preparing his repertoire for the following year.


End file.
